


Caught at the edge just before the fall

by devera



Category: Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This didn't have a title when I posted it on my LJ and now I just made any old thing up. Please don't mind me. Anyway, it was just a quickie fill for a prompt at the AC kinkmeme.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Caught at the edge just before the fall

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't have a title when I posted it on my LJ and now I just made any old thing up. Please don't mind me. Anyway, it was just a quickie fill for a prompt at the AC kinkmeme.

Reliving centuries old memories, cooped up in a god damned _cave_ , Desmond figures he might as well use his painfully learned, possibly-going-to-send-him-crazy-eventually skills for _something_. And sure, Lucy's pretty and everything, but Desmond knows when someone's paying him that kind of attention and when they're not. He can flirt with Lucy all he likes; but it it's never going to pay off. Whether that's because she needs to keep it professional, or whether he's not her type or she prefers girls or what is hard to say, but either way, Desmond's not entirely stupid; he knows when someone's not interested.

Lucy is not interested.

But Shaun is.

Sure, Shaun is the kind of interested that amounts to a lot of posturing, of snarky come backs, of thinly veiled insults and pulling his bloody pig-tails, but he's interested. Desmond can feel him watching him sometimes, when Desmond's not in the Animus, even catches him occasionally, Shaun's expression closed, his gaze lingering heavily like he'd touch if he could. And Desmond's been looking back, at Shaun's large hands, at his smart-arsed mouth, at the way he glares whenever the two of them start in on each other for want of anything better to do to break the tedium. Desmond's been looking, and he's been thinking. Every time Shaun tears Desmond a new one, whenever he rolls out new lows in sarcasm and Desmond fires his shit straight back at him, he meets Desmond's gaze and smirks like he knows something, like he's just fucking daring Desmond, like he's on to him and everything that he's thinking and he doesn't think Desmond is man enough to try for it.

Well, Desmond – and not many people would know this – lives to prove people wrong. So, he figures he might as well put his skills to use on something. If it constitutes an abuse of power, right now he really doesn't care.

"Shit! Des-" Shaun starts to gasp when Desmond stops kissing him long enough to let him breathe.

"Thought I wouldn't make a move, didn't you, asshole," Desmond pants, and actually, tangled up with him against his workstation with his tongue in his mouth while the girls are out doing some major resupplying is a lot nicer than Desmond actually thought it would be. Shaun feels good against him, really solid. There's muscle under there, not the kind that a professional assassin develops, but enough to get a few good hits in, and then Desmond wonders whether Shaun will – hit him, that is – and feels something hot spark like a firecracker in the pit of his stomach.

"Come on," he mutters, kissing him again, as dirtily as he knows how, pushing up against him so that his filling cock rubs into the fit of Shaun's hip bone, and so he can feel Shaun is definitely not uninterested either. "Come on. Fuck, I know you want to, right? I'm not wrong. You think about this, don't you? When we're arguing, think about shutting me up with something more than just a decent come-back, right? You want me on my knees? I can do that."

"Jesus," Shaun breathes, and then pushes at him. Not down - like anyone, any guy with a fucking pulse would, right? - but off. "Jesus, Desmond."

Desmond lurches back a step, not entirely letting go, but that, that wasn't in the plan. The plan was, he jumps Shaun, Shaun gives him a serving, Desmond gives Shaun a blow job, and maybe gets jerked off in return, and then they get back to work. This is not happening according to plan.

"What?" Desmond demands. "Seriously, you're going to pussy out on me now? You know, last week you did in fact tell me to suck your dick. I'm pretty sure I heard you say that."

"Desmond," Shaun says again, and his expression is weird, kind of soft, like he understands something else entirely, something Desmond isn't seeing. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" His voice is soft to go along with that look, and when he raises his hand and drags it up the side of Desmond's neck to cup the back of his head, that's just as gentle.

"Crazy?" Desmond says, a knee jerk reaction that makes him flinch before he can stop himself. "Of course not! I'm fine. Shit, Shaun, all you have to say is you're not interested after all. So, I was reading the signals wrong, okay? Fine. I'm sorry. Just forget I-"

He starts to pull back – his face is fucking burning, but he'll be damned if he'll let this jerkoff see him acting embarrassed – but Shaun's hand on his neck jerks him forward again, flush up against him, and Desmond blinks and looks at him when he doesn't do more.

"Desmond," Shaun says again, like he's trying to instil some kind of knowledge in him just by uttering his name, and, "What?" Desmond says, but it comes out way less demanding than before, and Desmond doesn't get it. Shaun is just standing there, staring at him, his thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth against the hinge of Desmond's jaw, and Desmond's mouth is drying out, is falling open a little because it's getting kind of hard to breathe. There's this pressure in his chest, his heart beating too hard, not like before, in eager anticipation, but like it wants him to run, like this is a mistake, a big mistake, there's danger here and he should have known it, should have…

"Shhhh," Shaun says softly, like he can hear the panic rising in Desmond's thoughts. "Shhh, it's okay, Desmond. Really."

"St- Stop it," Desmond breathes, and he can feel himself shaking now and he can't seem to stop it. "Just fucking… yell at me, or deck me, or… Don't…. Shaun…."

"Shhhh," Shaun says again, and leans forward, reeling Desmond in at the same time, and kisses him.

It's nothing – _nothing_ – like before. Desmond doesn't even- He doesn't even know what it's like but it's sweet and gentle and thorough and lingering and when he opens his eyes again, he's panting and shivering and fucking clinging to the bastard, pressed up against his chest while Shaun strokes his hands over Desmond shoulders and presses his mouth over and over again to whatever skin he can reach.

It's ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Desmond's never felt safer in his entire life, and he never even realised he was afraid.

"You know what we're going to do, Desmond?" Shaun tells him eventually, his voice low and easy, lingering like the touch of his hands on Desmond's body.

"No," Desmond whispers, and it sounds like he's been crying – he hasn't, but it feels like it. "What?"

"As soon as Lucy gets back, we're going to gang up on her to let you out for a night. We'll make something up if we have to, I'll make up some important message or fake a new clue somewhere or something. And then you're going to do your thing across the rooftops and you're going to come and find me, and I'm going to be waiting for you in a room that I'll rent through three different shell accounts, and then we're going to take our clothes off, and lie down on a bed, a real bed, and we're going to do everything – absolutely everything – you want to. Everything I want to. Slowly. All night. All right?"

Desmond breathes in, shifts enough to look into Shaun's face and feels his heart do something he's heard described in the kinds of chick-lit novels he has definitely never read, thanks, because Shaun is smiling at him, and Desmond has never seen him look quite like that before.

"All right," he agrees peaceably.

"All right," Shaun echoes, and leans forward and kisses him again, and Desmond just angles his head for a more comfortable fit and parts his lips and lets him and he has no idea who this is or what he did with Shaun Hastings, but whatever it is, he likes it, likes it a lot more than the name calling and the hair pulling and the getting smart about his weight. Although admittedly, that's kind of fun too.

"Hey," he says after a moment, and dragging himself away from the drugging effect of Shaun's embrace, from the gentle strength he never expected to find and the promise of Shaun's arousal still warm and firm against his thigh, is going to be hard, but happily he doesn't have to do it just yet. "Does this mean you're going to be nice to me from now on?"

And, oh, there's the Shaun he knows, smirking and - cheeky bastard! – squeezing Desmond's arse in one of his large, surprisingly capable hands so that Desmond's rides his thigh a little and, oh, yeah, now that's what Desmond's talking about.

"Of course it doesn't, you moron," Shaun says huskily, thrusting against him just once – okay, twice – and pressing a fast kiss to his mouth. "After all, it's the only form of foreplay you seem to understand."

"Oh yeah?" Desmond says challengingly, throwing his arms around Shaun's neck to hike himself up higher on his thigh and press his own thigh against Shaun's cock. "Why don't you just try me, huh?"

"Oh, I intend to. But right now, Desmond, I think you should go bother someone else. I've got stuff to do."

He doesn't mean it of course; his hands are still definitely holding on, and he's still smiling, and Desmond can't help it, he's smiling too.

"Shaun, you might want to look up from nerd central every now and again, because there's no one else here to bother."

And, "What a shame," Shaun breathes in reply.

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, craning in to kiss him some more. "Isn't it."


End file.
